Phantasmagoria
by ShinigamiForever
Summary: Wherein Fate thinks it’s amusing to constantly place Harry and Draco in compromising situations. Wherein friends decide to play match maker for the two. Wherein the seventh year ends up to be rather catastrophic. Chp 4: Potions class
1. The Hatchet That Refuses To Be Buried

Phantasmagoria  
  
By: ShinigamiForever  
  
  
  
Warnings: Slash, some strangeness. Hopefully it's not cliché, I'm trying.  
  
Pairings: Harry/Draco, Ron/Hermione… um… some others I might just throw at you.  
  
Summary: Wherein Fate thinks it's amusing to constantly place Harry and Draco in rather compromising situations. Wherein Ron, Hermione, Seamus, Dean and some others decide to play match maker for the two. Wherein the seventh year ends up to be rather catastrophic. A Harry/Draco production.  
  
A/N: This will take me forever to finish! So sorry if one chapter takes months to get out. Do forgive, I'm slow. The beginning segment of each part will come into play at the very end, so if it's confusing, I'm sorry. Just ignore it and come back to it when (if) I get this story finished.  
  
  
  
1 Chapter 1: The Hatchet That Refuses To Be Buried  
  
  
  
They handed him the visor so gently he was afraid it would break when he touched it, and he was sincerely relieved when it didn't shatter into a million pieces. It as a wide band of magnetic screens and metal, covered on the outside with connecting wires and switches. They all led back to the master computer. He had never really seen a computer before; when he first saw one, they had to cajole him back into the testing area, he was so impressed. The keys were like their own magic. So little keys do so many things.  
  
They had tubes and sensors on his body, little humming insects against his skin. Blood rate, pulse, adrenaline, brain waves, the rest. He didn't know what it would do to monitor him. He always figured it was a life and death situation. But his hands were strapped with millions of sensors and electric tubes, and a band around his forehead was cutting into the skin.  
  
The visor fitted over his eyes with a little leeway. The scientists leaned over and adjusted the straps, making the cracks of light around the metal and plastic disappear. He was plunged into this singular well of darkness, and he had to bite his lips to keep him from crying out. A mask was placed over his nose, cutting off any noise of protest he was going to make.  
  
A sweet smell ran through the gas mask, a type of chemical they were making him breathe. To relax, they had said. A sedative. And he found it worked, because moments after, his eyelids began to droop, ever so slightly, even with the band chaffing his forehead and the sensors stuck all over his body.  
  
The machines began their silent work after he fell asleep.  
  
***  
  
Harry had made up his mind long before that he would be the first to apologize and not act like he was suffering and actually say the words "I'm sorry."  
  
Of course, that was so much easier looking from the other end of summer, not just a couple days before he would have to get back on the Hogwart's Express and face the situation head on.  
  
The question that had arisen in his mind a couple of days ago was, where had he gotten the insane idea? Easy. When Sirius had sent him that note telling him that he needed all the allies he could get, even if he had to make amends with some people (in parenthesis, 'Slytherins' written in a pained hand). He had, at that time, smiled confidentially and thought to himself, I have friends, and also thought about whether or not Sirius had lost his marbles, suggesting he make amends with Slytherins. Ron didn't know about the letter, or else he would be howling Sirius ever chance he got for suggesting anything as ludicrous as asking to Slytherins for help.  
  
But a few days of pondering and nights of thinking left him wondering, are my friends enough?  
  
Because while Ron and Hermione were loyal to the end, they were only two against the hundreds that would be up against them. He had other friends, of course. Fred, George, Ginny, Seamus, Dean… he counted them off on his fingers. However, he realized that he needed someone to offset the gallant white they all put forth. Someone that was smart and cunning, sly and stealthy, slimy, someone his age but just as intelligent, someone who wouldn't be afraid of telling him off, and most of all, someone who could think like a Death Eater.  
  
And of course, that left him only with one choice: Draco Malfoy.  
  
So, packing up his bags at the Weasley's home, he thought about the ways to approach a Malfoy and apologize without getting laughed at or ridiculed, because by God! he still had some pride left. With extra bravado, he slammed the top of one of his trunks shut, fuming about how Sirius better be right about needing to make amends.  
  
He wasn't going to risk his pride for nothing. Especially not to Draco Malfoy.  
  
***  
  
Harry, Ron, and Hermione, all carrying their respective luggage, found their way onto the train with ease, considering the entire trip to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was spent griping about the loss of summer and about more homework.  
  
Hermione had severely lectured them about waiting until the last few weeks of summer to do their homework, to which Ron had hotly declared that he had better things, such as Quidditch, to do, to which Hermione replied in turn that homework was most definitely more important than Quidditch, and that had sparked an argument loud enough to make Harry want to take an headache reliever and a sleeping draught simply to shut out the racket.  
  
But all was peachy now.  
  
Or, as peachy as it was going to get. Harry still had a queasy feeling in his stomach as he thought of his upcoming ordeal. After locating an empty compartment, he found himself constantly looking out the window for traces of blond hair and gray eyes, but he couldn't find the Slytherin for the life of him. Ron and Hermione were setting up a chess game when he suddenly asked, "Where do you think Malfoy is?"  
  
Ron promptly dropped the pawn he had been holding. Bending up to pick it off the ground, he stared at Harry in sheer amazement. "Harry, have you gone insane? Why would you want to know where that creep is?" He slapped the chess piece onto the board before turning back to Harry and placing his hand on Harry's forehead. "You sick or something?"  
  
Harry scowled and swatted at Ron's hand in annoyance, feeling rather stupid. "No, I am NOT insane. It's just-" and stopped before he could say anything else.  
  
Hermione peered over Ron anxiously and said, "You're not going to try and pick a fight with him, are you?"  
  
"Of course not," he snapped. "And anyway, he's always the one to start." Then why was he going to be the first to apologize? He shook his head, irritated. This was not working.  
  
"Just wait," Ron said darkly, playing with the crown of the black king. "He'll come visit us in a little while. You start," he added, nodding towards Hermione.  
  
She beat him in ten minutes. Ron's expression intensified until it was like a storm cloud, and Harry and Hermione rightly steered clear out of his way.  
  
But it looked like Draco Malfoy was in no mood to do the same, and sure enough, after about an hour of watching Ron sulk, Harry was confronted with Draco, dressed up in bright new black robes and flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.  
  
"Malfoy," Harry said, trying to keep his tone neutral. "How nice of you to visit."  
  
"Potter," came the slow sneer, drawing out the syllables. "How nice of you to remember me."  
  
"Now that you have graced us with your presence," Hermione replied scathingly, "you have our permission to leave."  
  
"Just for that, Granger," Draco said, smirking, "I think I'll stay just a little longer." He perched himself quite elegantly on the seat opposite Harry. Crabbe and Goyle shuffled their way over to sandwich the pale blond in between.  
  
Harry groaned and muttered "Oh hell," to himself before deciding to take the plunge. "Malfoy, can I talk to you outside?" He watched one slim silver eyebrow arch up and clenched his fists to avoid hitting Draco.  
  
"Talk? We don't talk, remember? We insult and hit each other and fight duels, but we don't talk." Harry felt the anger begin to work its way through his veins. He took a deep breath and began to count to ten, but the same insolent voice interrupted his counting. "Of course, if the talk is an invitation to leave, I gladly accept. The Mudblood's slime is starting to stink up this compartment."  
  
He lunged forward, grabbing for the collar of Draco's robes, but Hermione held him back, murmuring, "Just ignore him." He settled instead for glaring angrily at his nemesis.  
  
"Don't insult my friends," he growled. His mind produced an image of spit hurling into that infuriating face.  
  
"Oh don't worry, Potter. I have better things to do," and swept out of the room, Crabbe and Goyle guffawing like trolls behind him  
  
After a few minutes, Ron spoke up. "See? I told you he would visit us. You wanted to see him? There he was." Harry flung himself into a seat, muttering curses under his breath. Hermione and Ron exchanged glances before setting up another chess game.  
  
This time, Ron won.  
  
***  
  
He didn't remember exactly when he had started to stop hating Draco Malfoy. Actually, it wasn't so much as a stop to hating him, it was more just plain indifference. He had never really hated Malfoy himself, he just hated the stupid meaningless pranks he played on them constantly. A tit for tat game that was starting to fray on his nerves.  
  
It was Harry's own fault to begin with. After all, he was the one who refused Malfoy's offer of being friends and had done everything possible to aggravate the boy in the beginning. Started out on the wrong foot and stayed that way.  
  
Harry was not so vain as to not admit he had been quite jealous of the Slytherin. Draco Malfoy had family prestige, honor, knowledge of how to act in the wizard world, and mostly, no scar on his forehead that . He had done things to get under that pale skin just so Malfoy would be like him, human. It was that simple.  
  
But as year dragged into year, he realized that hate was not quite the word for it anymore. In his case, it was just rivalry, an almost friendly competition. But with Malfoy, it was straight out war. He never had enough of cornering Harry in the hallways and starting fights that always ended up with points taken from their houses. Quidditch games were teeth-pulling battles. It was Catch the Snitch or Die.  
  
Harry was, of course, also part of the problem. He had his fiercely competitive nature too, making life difficult for the both of them. But he had stopped feeling like Fury Incarnate and had settled for a brotherly annoyance when dealing with Malfoy.  
  
He recognized, now, sitting on the train going to Hogwarts, that it was the fade-off of animosity between him and Malfoy that made the idea of apologizing so much easier. Deep down, he probably wanted cross the rift between the two and start being friends.  
  
Hell, if he started it, might as well end it too, right?  
  
With that in mind, he cheered up significantly and began to join in on the conversation between Ron and Hermione on the possibility of playing a prank on Snape.  
  
***  
  
The rest of the trip proved uneventful. Harry had decided that he would wait a little before approaching Malfoy again; after all, a few days couldn't hurt. His mind continued to tell him that if he put it off any longer, he would lose all initiative to actually apologize- no, make amends- and never get around it ever again.  
  
But one could always hope.  
  
It was just their luck that the weather turned rainy as they were crossing the lake. A huge downpour caught the students on the boat, making the water rough and soaking every last one of them down to the skin. Ron was complaining the entire way through, trying to wring out his robes while avoiding more rain.  
  
In his haste to get inside the castle, Harry didn't watch where he was going, and a few feet away from the entrance he ran smack dab into another person. It took him a while to look up through the daze and recognize a scowling Draco Malfoy.  
  
"Watch where you're going, Potter."  
  
'Standing in the rain a few steps away from the entrance of Hogwarts' was not top on Harry's list of ways he would like to be when trying to apologize to his archenemy. However, it wasn't like Fate really was going to give him a choice. "I need to talk to with you."  
  
"So you decide to run into me. Transferal of message through osmosis?" Draco suggested scornfully.  
  
"Piss off, Malfoy."  
  
"You're the one that needs to talk to me. At least wait until we're inside." Shrugging nonchalantly, he made his way into the castle. Harry watched him leave with an air of awe. Even with the rain pouring down in gallons, Draco still managed to look poised and groomed, while Harry just felt like a drowned cat. Regardless, he followed the young man in front of him, anxiously looking back to see if Ron and Hermione were catching up. He caught no sight of them in the crowd, even though he thought Ron would surely be easier to spot.  
  
The entrance way into the Great Hall was grandiose and chilly as always. Peeves made it a point to drop a great deal of water bombs on the first years, earning him the wrath of Professor McGonagall. Harry followed Draco into a small alcove-like corner next to a suit of armor. He was rather reluctant about being seen in public with Malfoy, but within seconds he realized the shadows made it next to impossible to see anyone. He caught a glimpse of Ron's hair in the passing flow, but everyone quickly emptied out into the Great Hall, leaving Draco and Harry behind.  
  
"So talk," Draco said, crossing his arms across his chest and leaning insolently against the suit of armor. His hair was wet in loose strands across his face. Harry was fascinated with a drip of water pinging against the ground, streaming from Draco's sleeve.  
  
"Right. So, uh…" He suddenly felt himself inarticulate, face to face with Draco. What was the longest time they've spent together without trying to kill each other? The record was probably 5 seconds.  
  
"What? Cat got your tongue?"  
  
"No," he shot out, rubbing his palms nervously against his wet pants. "I just wanted to… uh…"  
  
"Spit it out, Potter," Draco drawled in a bored tone of voice, looking down at his fingernails. Harry noted with some curiosity that Draco's nails were perfect looking, as if they had been manicured. Turning his head slightly around, he looked at his own nails, torn and ragged at the edges. He shook his head, then turned back to Draco's downward eyes.  
  
"I wanted to say, I'm sorry for everything I've done to you, and I hope we'll be friends." There, he thought to himself, gulping. There. I said it. Now what?  
  
"Well, well, well, Potter. Come to beg for my company?" The sarcasm was dreadful.  
  
"No, it's not that, it's-" Oh yes, stutter, that's really going to help.  
  
"You want me for an ally on your side."  
  
"What? No, not at all!" Except that's exactly why you're doing this, isn't it.  
  
"No?"  
  
"Of course not! What, did you think I was-"  
  
"Trying to make sure that your side wins? Yes."  
  
"Malfoy, that's not the question and you know it!"  
  
"Oh? That isn't the question? Then tell me, why are you suddenly so interested in making me your friend?"  
  
"I just thought- I just thought that it would be nice, you know…" he faltered, looking for words. "To come out of this alive, this war, together, kind of. Like, I don't know, brothers? Friends? At least not enemies because…" Reason, reason, he thought to himself, think of a reason. "There's already so many enemies," he finished lamely, out of steam.  
  
He tried to think of an explanation for his words. Struggling mutely against his rampaging thoughts, he tried to sort out all the strange ideas running through his mind. There were thoughts he never knew he had thought, incoherent reasons that made no sense to anyone but himself. Not even himself.  
  
"No." Harry looked up, quickly abandoning his half formed thoughts when he met Draco's eyes, cold sharp steel in the dark. The Slytherin had his fists closed, pressed firmly against the metal behind him, and his eyes were trained on Harry's face like the muzzle of a gun.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"No," Draco said again, almost growling. A look of wild ferocity crossed his face.  
  
"Damn it, Malfoy! Give me a reason!"  
  
"They're my reasons, and I sure as hell don't have to give them to you!" He banged his fists against the armor, hard hits that rang softly in the empty entranceway. "Potter, sometimes the reasons make less sense-"  
  
But Harry had long ago stopped paying attention to Draco and had instead been gaping at the tall looming metal figure behind him. The sharp raps Draco had given the armor seemed more than its stands could bear, and it was beginning to lean forward, toppling over. Malfoy turned his head around to catch the shadow of the rusty armor as it fell.  
  
Harry wasn't quite sure exactly how the armor had toppled. He only knew that he was pushed onto the floor with a rough force, and, when he opened his eyes, found himself staring straight into dark gray pools of color. A soft breath was washing over his face. There was a weight thrown on his body, unnatural and bulky, all arms and legs. Draco and the armor had both fallen on him.  
  
"What-" he managed, then froze, feeling the contours of someone else's body above him. The wet robes clinging to Draco's skin made the contact unbearably warm.  
  
Skin against skin.  
  
Leg against leg, arm against arm, chest against chest. Like some snapshot from a romance movie.  
  
He struggled to get up, only to find that it was impossible. "Get the hell off me!" he yelled, hands bracing at his sides to lever the Slytherin away from him.  
  
"Don't you think I'm trying?" Draco hissed into Harry's face, nose a few inches away.  
  
His lips, full and pink. His skin, pale like oleander. No, Harry, don't think about that. It's Malfoy we're talking about.  
  
"The armor's on top of me!"  
  
"So do something about it!"  
  
Harry heard an exasperated sigh, then Draco began to shuffle awkwardly off of the boy under him. However, try as he might, the weight of the armor kept him pinned down. And he was forced to stay as he was, head jutted agonizingly close against Harry's collarbone.  
  
"MR. MALFOY, MR. POTTER, WHAT DO YOU TWO THINK YOU'RE DOING?!"  
  
"Bloody hell," Harry heard Draco's voice say, slightly muffled by his position. The echo of McGonagall's voice was still ringing in his ears as he tried once again to sit up. A group of first and second years were already gathered around the scene, as well as a few older students that leered at the pair.  
  
"I can explain, Professor," Harry said as she began to lift the armor up with a spell. Draco quickly slid off Harry and got up, shaking his robes in dismay. As Harry got up too, he caught sight of a slight blush on Malfoy's cheek. If it hadn't been for his involvement in the situation, he would have laughed.  
  
"Good. Start explaining."  
  
"Well, you see, Harry wanted to talk to me-"  
  
"He pulled me into this corner-"  
  
"I thought it would be better if we went inside first-"  
  
"And we started talking-"  
  
"Except Harry started insulting me-"  
  
"I did NOT! You got upset for no reason-"  
  
"And then he started to attack me, so I tried to defend myself-"  
  
"Malfoy, you are such a liar! Professor, he's lying-"  
  
"And then he knocked over the armor-"  
  
"You banged into it!"  
  
"So it wasn't my fault at all!"  
  
"MALFOY! I can't believe you're such a liar! That is NOT the truth and you know it!"  
  
"BOYS!" McGonagall held up her hand to stop further protest, the bickering dying down. Her eyes regarded them sternly, but Harry could almost swear there was a hint of amusement there. Please let her let us off easily, he begged silently, his eyes pleading. "Well, if that's the best you two can do, I am forced to give you both detentions. Together." A flash of dark eyes and Draco swore under his breath. "You two will report to my room at 9:30 sharp. No complaining. If either one of you are late, both of you will serve detentions with Filch for the rest of the year."  
  
Harry drew in a deep breath, hearing Draco do the same, and let it out, heart rapidly sinking into his stomach. "And," McGonagall continued after pausing briefly, "30 points off both of your houses."  
  
"Professor-"  
  
"That's not fair!"  
  
"It was really his fault-"  
  
"You should blame Potter for it!"  
  
"Stop arguing before I make it double. Now, back to the Great Hall, the both of you," she said, quickly exiting into the said Hall. Draco and Harry exchanged frightfully murderous glances at each other before following her.  
  
"Remember, 9:30," Draco muttered under his breath as they entered, facing the curious glances of their respective houses.  
  
"Right. I swear, I'll hunt you down to hell if you don't show," Harry countered.  
  
"Oh don't worry. The feelings are mutual." And they parted without much ado.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Yay! Got the first done. I think it's turned out nicely. Now, onto the second.  
  
I'm sorry about any problems with placements of rooms. The Harry Potter Lexicon is a great site in case anyone wants to take a look at maps.  
  
Reviews please! Thank you for reading, at least.  
  
Quick Possible Summary for the Next Chapter:  
  
Harry and Malfoy work out their detention, and both find out that old armors are the bane of their existence. Ron and Hermione play spy and eavesdrop, only to learn that innuendoes are bad, or at least give the wrong picture. Harry begins to hate half baked rumors. 


	2. When All Else Fails, Eavesdrop

Phantasmagoria  
  
By: ShinigamiForever  
  
  
  
Warnings: Slash, some strangeness, somewhat wry humor. Is it cliché? You decide. I must warn you, a lot of dialogue in this one.  
  
Pairings: Harry/Draco, Seamus/Dean, Fred/George, Ron/Hermione… um… some others I might just throw at you later.  
  
Summary: Wherein Fate thinks it's amusing to constantly place Harry and Draco in rather compromising situations. Wherein Ron, Hermione, Seamus, Dean and some others decide to play match maker for the two. Wherein the seventh year ends up to be rather catastrophic. A Harry/Draco production.  
  
Chapter Summary: Harry and Malfoy work out their detention, and both find out that old armors are the bane of their existence. Ron and Hermione play spy and eavesdrop, only to learn that innuendoes are bad, or at least give the wrong picture. Harry begins to hate half baked rumors.  
  
A/N: So, the last chapter got turned out, here's the second. Cross my fingers, hope someone's reading. This part is dedicated to a story I can't find right now, entitled The Knights of the Round Table, or something like that. If anyone else has read it, you will find definite influences. There are a lot of innuendoes. A LOT! You have been warned. Once again, beginning section comes into play later. Anyway, thanks for dropping by.  
  
  
  
Chapter 2: When All Else Fails, Eavesdrop  
  
  
  
One of the scientists, with short cropped strawberry blond hair and pink skin, set down her coffee, staring dubiously at the small figure strapped into the chair. To tell the truth, she wasn't really watching him, but more his reflection on the screen. A thin neon green line jumped up and down with his heart beat. Her left hand was still resting on the keyboard, ready to press buttons at a command.  
  
The tension and accuracy of the team seemed palpable in the air, a thick smoky taste in her mouth. She hated stress; it wore her out and made her cranky for weeks on end, but there was no avoiding it. A job like hers had stress. Once in a while, they had breaks, but they were short-lived and no doubt much in lack.  
  
Woe it is to be me, she thought dryly, eyes following the heart rate.  
  
She wondered, though, what the young man- the subject, he was more often called- was like. What had possessed him to volunteer for this experiment? To undergo tedious procedures simply to test out a process that could be wrong? To surrender his mind to a group of clinically approved psycho surgeons (for lack of a better word)?  
  
He didn't seem like a young man with ambition. He was empty when they first met him, he was still empty now. Shadowed expression, hollows under his cheekbones. A gangly feel to his entire body.  
  
And eyes that seemed to have forgotten how to smile.  
  
It was none of her business anyway, but sometimes, she would have liked to know his history. Just because she wanted to know what he had been like before-  
  
Well, before whatever it was that made him this way.  
  
The machines still beeped away quietly.  
  
***  
  
"I don't want to hear anything," Harry said, slipping into a seat next to Ron. Hermione gave him a glance before he sat down opposite Ron. Over her head, Harry could catch the sight of Draco making his own way back to his table. Not that he was watching, of course.  
  
Right.  
  
"Seriously, Harry, what happened?" Ron asked, tilting his head like a dog. Harry almost chuckled to himself.  
  
"What's so funny?" Ron demanded, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.  
  
"It's nothing," Harry reassured him quickly. "Just, you looked like a dog and you said 'seriously.'" Ron looked at him like he was insane. The second time this day. Ron shrugged and continued on.  
  
"There's this stupid rumor going around that-"  
  
"Shush!" Hermione ordered, putting her finger to her lips. "Dumbledore is going to make a speech."  
  
Harry dutifully turned his attention to the Headmaster who was currently getting up, the twinkle in his eye still visible from all the way across the hall. But it faded away quickly when Dumbledore cleared his throat and began to talk.  
  
"Another year at Hogwarts. Like any other year, perhaps, but also not like any other year." He paused for the effect, then went on. "As many of you already know, Lord Voldemort-" and here a collective murmur rose- "has regained his power due to the help of his faithful servants." Harry winced at the harshness in the old voice, a type of sharpness that could only have come from deep hatred. "Thus, Hogwarts has now become not only a school, but a safe hold for the leaders of tomorrow, you the students."  
  
The Hall became suddenly silent, every twinge of energy focused on the wizened man talking. Harry risked a reluctant glance over at the Slytherin table, then looked away before he could catch sight of Malfoy. "Hogwarts," Dumbledore continued, "must now produce warriors instead of poets, leaders instead of politicians, reporters instead of authors, and strategists instead of teachers. We must train ourselves to face the reality of the world and to look from both the wide and the narrow prospective.  
  
But most of all-" his voice became louder, filling the Hall in a way Harry had never known- "we must become more united than we have ever been. We must not risk leaving out anyone. You, the students of Hogwarts, must be proud of what you are as a unity and not as an individual. That means certain petty differences," and here Dumbledore cast a look at Snape, who looked away angrily, "must be cast aside for the good of the entire group. We will win against Lord Voldemort. But we will only truly win against ourselves when we become a fully united and unbiased group."  
  
The applause was a thunderous roar of approval, the students of every house, even the Slytherins, getting up on their feet and clapping until their hands were chapped red. Dumbledore looked around amid the noise, appearing quite pleased with himself. Harry noticed that many of the students, him included, were grinning ear to ear even though the sober message had sunk into them. It was courage, he concluded, that made us smile. And he looked over again in Malfoy's direction, an unbidden action, to find that the pale blond was smiling too.  
  
***  
  
"So what happened?" Ron demanded through bites of beef stew and bread. Hermione suddenly looked very interested, leaning in slightly. Harry sighed, toying with the rim of his cup, making the pumpkin juice inside swirl madly.  
  
"Well, I ran into Malfoy and told him that I needed to talk to him-"  
  
"You WHAT?!"  
  
"Ran into Malfoy and told-"  
  
"I heard that!"  
  
"Then why did you ask?"  
  
"You know what I meant!"  
  
Hermione cut in. "Harry, why on earth would you want to talk to Malfoy?"  
  
Harry shrugged, feigning indifference, causing his two friends to regard him with a mix of worry and suspicion. "Mione, do you know of any curses that make people go insane?" Ron asked in a low voice.  
  
"I don't know. He doesn't look like he's under a curse, but…"  
  
"I think he's gone stark raving bonkers."  
  
"Ron, that's not very nice. Even though it's almost true. Malfoy, of all people!"  
  
"Ahem," Harry interjected, glaring while the two continued to converse in low voices. "May I remind you that I am still here?"  
  
"You haven't answered my question yet, Harry," Hermione said, taking a measured sip of her drink. "Why did you want to talk to Malfoy?"  
  
Harry, sighing resignedly, proceeded to tell them about Sirius' letter, careful to keep his voice low. Ron made a few growls of protest but otherwise stayed quiet, while a thoughtful air passed over Hermione.  
  
"So anyway," Harry continued, "I ran into him and told him I needed to talk to him. I followed him into the entrance hall and we started talking-"  
  
"You're kidding. You and Malfoy, talking?"  
  
"Well, he refused of course, and started getting all hot and bothered. And all of a sudden the armor just fell over and crashed into both of us." Hermione began to giggle in the furious way girls are prone to do, causing both Harry and Ron to stare at her.  
  
"I'm sorry," she choked out between fits of giggles. "It's just this image of you and Malfoy trapped under this suit of armor."  
  
"Yes, and I'm sure a good deal of others found it humorous too," Harry answered wryly, gesturing towards a group of first years.  
  
"There's a rumor going around that-" Ron was suddenly interrupted by Hermione's hand.  
  
"Harry doesn't need to know," she said hastily, her voice carrying the hint of a warning.  
  
"What?" He asked, quick to catch the tone. "What don't I need to know?"  
  
"There's a rumor that you and Malfoy were caught snogging!" Ron blurted out, muffled by the hand over his mouth.  
  
"Oh honestly!" Hermione said, throwing her hands up in frustration. "You didn't have to tell him that!"  
  
"He had a right to know," Ron said, abashed, poking dubiously at the food on his plate. Harry felt himself go red and coughed nervously.  
  
"Ah-" he managed, skin tingling with the memory of warm wet robes against him. "No."  
  
"Good. For a moment I was worried there..." Ron's voice began to fade off into the distance. Yeah, thought Harry, I was worried about it too. Except, it's not just a moment now, is it?  
  
I am not attracted to Draco Malfoy.  
  
Right.  
  
9:30 tonight, Harry. A detention with Mr. I'm-too-sexy-for-my-shirt. He choked in the middle of a swig of his juice.  
  
Where did that thought come from? He had a feeling he really didn't want to know.  
  
***  
  
He arrived at McGonagall's room 10 minutes early. It showed just how much he dreaded any extra time with Filch; he would even go to detention earlier just to avoid having to spend more time with the disgruntled janitor.  
  
To his amazement, Draco was already at the door, looking slightly nervous and a bit thrown off.  
  
"My, my, my, Malfoy. Here early?" he teased, forgetting his own discomfort at the sight of the other's.  
  
"So are you, Potter. Quite the little brown-nose are we?" Draco countered, his anxiety passing away.  
  
"Not as much as you are with Snape," Harry replied, knocking on the door. There was a sharp 'come in' that followed his rapping, and he held the door open with mock courtesy for Draco, who stepped in after casting a scornful look at Harry.  
  
There was something about desks that seemed to tell about a person. Not just an empty desk means an empty mind. It's nothing like that kind of thing. For instance, Harry believed Ron's desk was the exact mirror of himself. Whenever he put his things on a desk, they were arranged in organized but messy piles, some random, some not. He always took out his wand first, placing it on his desk. Hermione's desk was neat, in logical order and usually quite bare. Her books were the first to be on her desk, followed closely by her quill.  
  
Professor McGonagall had a neatly orderly desk, somewhat like Hermione's but in a strictly Spartan way. A small bottle of ink was placed on the center of the upper edge. There were a few piles of parchment that was most likely students' homework waiting to be graded. She was in the middle of writing when she looked up to see the two walk in.  
  
"You're here early. Good." She gave them both a nod and pointed with the quill to a few chairs. They quietly pulled them up to her desk and sat down as she finished writing.  
  
"Now. Filch says that he wants the armor to be repaired, but he's busy working on the normal start-of-the-year repairs. So he decided the best thing to do is to let both of you fix it. Without magic."  
  
Mutual outbursts of protest followed. Harry blanched at the prospect of piecing together millions of little parts with screws and bolts, mouth working in mindless opposition. "I am not going to do menial housework!" Draco cut in, nails digging into his palms. Harry looked over at the Slytherin, his back rigid and his face contorted, then looked away.  
  
"It's about time you start," McGonagall said, a hint of a smile on her face.  
  
"I'm just worried that Malfoy will hurt himself somehow," Harry said in an uncharacteristic drawl. "Without daddy there to supervise and all," he added, smiling evilly in a way that would make Slytherins proud.  
  
"Piss off, Potter."  
  
"Ooh. I'm hurt."  
  
"You want hurt?"  
  
"I'm sorry, unlike you, I do not indulge in masochistic and or sadistic tendencies towards anybody."  
  
"Boys," McGonagall chided, vaguely unsettled by the barb Harry had thrown at his Slytherin opposite and throwing odd glances at their direction. "We're leaving now."  
  
They followed her through endless hallways and corners until they reached an empty classroom. Harry and Draco had been poking each other's ribs and stepping on each other's feet throughout the entire trip, and Professor McGonagall continued to watch them with a curious eye. She ushered them into the room where the parts of a very familiar rusty armor lay on the floor along with a guide.  
  
"I hope you two will be able to last the night without killing each other," she added as she walked out. Draco threw a murderous look at Harry before smiling angelically. The two Gryffindors rolled their eyes.  
  
***  
  
Don't look at him. Don't touch him. Don't get close to him. Don't look at him. Focus, Harry, focus!  
  
Oh no, don't do that. Don't start shaking. Do NOT start blushing.  
  
Don't look at him. Focus, focus, focus!  
  
Nut and bolt. Screwdriver. Screw. Nail. Metal. Twist, twist, shove. Nice. Now repeat.  
  
"Potter-"  
  
"What?" Don't look at him. Don't look at him. Don't THINK about him. No no, stay focused. Come on.  
  
"I think you're doing that-"  
  
"Oh, shut the hell up, Malfoy." Don't look at him. Don't look at him. Do NOT think about how he would look naked. No, Harry, down boy.  
  
Oh god. And still 7/8 of the armor to go.  
  
***  
  
"Ron, do you know where you're going?"  
  
"No."  
  
"I was afraid of that."  
  
Hermione sighed, then pulled at Ron's sleeve. "I think we should just turn back."  
  
"All right," Ron said, exasperated. "But I swear that room with the decorative shields was here!"  
  
"Well, you know how they like to change," Hermione said soothingly. Ron had told her about a room with a collection of old shields decorated with family insignias that Harry and him had found on a late night walk. Convinced he knew the way there, he had dragged along a rather interested Hermione, only to find out that they were both lost.  
  
"Maybe next time. Hey-" Ron said, suddenly stopping in his tracks. "Do you hear something?" If it were possible, Hermione could almost swear his ears perked up.  
  
"No. Why?"  
  
"Shhh. Listen."  
  
Hermione kept quite, and within a few seconds, heard vaguely the muffled voice of someone she could recognize.  
  
"Oh, shut the hell up, Malfoy."  
  
"I don't believe it!" Ron said, ecstatic. "We found Harry serving detention with Malfoy!"  
  
***  
  
"I can't get this in," Harry said, throwing his hands up in irritation and flopping on the floor. Draco turned around, inquisitive, still working on putting together the arm.  
  
"What is it? Potty Wee Potter tired already?" Draco taunted, eyes leering.  
  
"No," Harry replied, emphatic. "This screw is impossible."  
  
"Here," Draco said, putting down his parts and walking over to Harry's side. "You hold, and I'll do the screwing." He reached out his hand for the screwdriver, but Harry was immobile. "You hear me, Potter?" A few seconds of silence. Then, a furious shake of the head.  
  
"That sounded so wrong, Malfoy," Harry choked out, hastily throwing the tool in Draco's direction.  
  
"Watch it!" The Slytherin grabbed the screwdriver with the instinct of a Seeker, then glared at Harry. "What's gotten into you?"  
  
***  
  
"Keep quite, Ron! I can't hear!"  
  
Scuffle, ears pressed against the wall.  
  
"-hold, and I'll do the screwing."  
  
"WHAT?!"  
  
"I have no idea!"  
  
"I hope they did not say what I just heard."  
  
"I have a bad feeling they did."  
  
***  
  
"It isn't going in."  
  
"I told you!"  
  
"So now what? It's stuck."  
  
"Keep pushing."  
  
Pant, shove. Push. Groan. Pant. Pant. Push. Shove. Frustrated sigh.  
  
"It's stuck."  
  
"I know that Malfoy! Stop stating the obvious!"  
  
"Well, we can't leave it that way!"  
  
"Keep trying."  
  
***  
  
"-It's stuck."  
  
Pant. Groan. Pant. Pant. Frustrated sigh.  
  
"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god-"  
  
"Shhh…"  
  
"They are not…?"  
  
"I don't know, Mione."  
  
"This sounds so wrong."  
  
"I haven't the faintest idea."  
  
***  
  
"I can't keep pushing!"  
  
"I say just pull it out. And try again. Maybe use some lubricant on it?"  
  
"All right. Let's try that."  
  
Pull, pant, groan. Noise of disgust. Disgruntled sigh.  
  
"Oh here Potter! Let me help. There. Now it's out."  
  
"Try the lubricant."  
  
"How does it work?"  
  
"I don't know. Just slather it on, I guess."  
  
***  
  
"Maybe use some lubricant on it?"  
  
"Harry did NOT just say that!"  
  
"They can't be… can they?"  
  
"Try the lubricant."  
  
"How does it work?"  
  
"I don't know. Just slather it on, I guess."  
  
"Ron, I think we should leave. NOW."  
  
"I think that's a good idea."  
  
The two made their way back to the Gryffindor common room in shocked silence, twin blushes stained across their cheeks.  
  
***  
  
Oh my god.  
  
Calm down, Harry, calm down.  
  
He did not just say that. He did not just say that.  
  
He was blushing. A lot. A red rash across his cheeks kind of blush.  
  
Their comments were just way too double-sided. Was Malfoy purposely doing this?  
  
"Potter."  
  
"Yeah?" That's it, nice and calm, don't croak."  
  
"I think we're almost done. Just this one last limb."  
  
"Ah- okay. Uh… great!"  
  
"Potter?"  
  
"Yes?" Did his voice just crack?  
  
"Are you feeling okay?"  
  
"Fine! Fine." He was so blushing.  
  
***  
  
It took them a good 5 hours to finish. They were hot and sweaty and cranky by the time they got to the last screw, and Harry had just about reached his breaking point on his patience. Draco looked quite disheveled from the pushing and twisting they had had to do. The armor didn't look too bad.  
  
"I think we're done."  
  
"Good," Draco said, getting up and wiping his hands on his robes. "It's about time."  
  
"You're not bad at this," Harry admitted grudgingly, giving the screw a final twist.  
  
"Why, thank you Potter. It's such an honor for you to recognize my superior ability to surpass anything you do."  
  
"Fuck off, Malfoy."  
  
As if in conditioned response, "Are you offering?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Draco immediately snapped his head up to stare aghast at Harry, eyebrows touching his hairline. A few agonizing minutes of silence, then, "It was a joke, Malfoy! A joke." Both faces turned a shade of scarlet red.  
  
The rest of the time was spent in uncomfortable tension. Every time their hands accidentally touched, they would both pull away quickly and cough. No one said much, except for the occasional "Pass me the screwdriver" or "That's the wrong direction."  
  
None of them looked at each other when they finally left at 4:53 in the morning.  
  
  
  
A/N: I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I had a lot of fun. Hopefully, it was worth the wait.  
  
Summary for next chapter: Draco and Harry recover from their all nighter. Harry learns the hard way that while half-baked rumors are annoying, full blown ones are even worse. Gryffindor and Slytherin go ballistic as the waves of a new rumor start to crash against their shores. Denial is hell. 


	3. What You Don't Know Can't Hurt You, Unle...

Phantasmagoria  
  
By: ShinigamiForever  
  
  
  
Warnings: Slash. Strangeness. Utter randomness, at sometimes, and just… well… me.  
  
Pairings: Harry/Draco, Seamus/Dean, Fred/George, Ron/Hermione… um… some others I might just throw at you later.  
  
Summary: Wherein Fate thinks it's amusing to constantly place Harry and Draco in rather compromising situations. Wherein Ron, Hermione, Seamus, Dean and some others decide to play match maker for the two. Wherein the seventh year ends up to be rather catastrophic. A Harry/Draco production.  
  
Chapter Summary: Draco and Harry recover from their all nighter. Harry learns the hard way that while half-baked rumors are annoying, full blown ones are even worse. Gryffindor and Slytherin go ballistic as the waves of a new rumor start to crash against their shores. Denial is hell.  
  
Disclaimer: Do you see Draco snogging Harry in any of the Harry Potter books? No? Well, then, they obviously don't belong to me, do they?  
  
A/N: I know this is long in coming. Well. It took me some time (major understatement there). Thank you to everyone who reviewed the first two chapters. You guys are all so supportive! *hugs everyone*  
  
  
  
Chapter 3: What You Don't Know Can't Hurt You, Unless Everyone Else Finds Out First  
  
  
  
What boggled the teachers and students so much was that there was indeed an order to how Harry-rumors, as they were called, get started.  
  
It goes like this: If there is something odd or gossipy about Harry, Ron is usually the first to know. From then own, someone in Harry's dorm, either Neville, Seamus, or Dean, will know. If it is Neville, all is well. Nothing will happen. If it is Dean, everything is relatively well, unless Seamus demands to know, upon which Dean will immediately divulge the rumor to Seamus. If Seamus finds out, Harry is doomed. It's that simple.  
  
Relationships between the houses were widely known too. Gryffindors were absolute enemies with Slytherins, the Draco/Harry enmity being the epitome of that conflict. However, Gryffindors were on very good terms with Hufflepuffs (except for the incident of the Chamber of Secrets) and on decent terms with Ravenclaws.  
  
Hufflepuffs were, of course, friends with Gryffindors. They were somewhat shunned by Ravenclaws, although still on speaking terms; however, they too were on feudal territory with Slytherins. Ravenclaws were the only friends with Slytherins and on neutral grounds with everyone else. Slytherins were their own self -contained group, except with Ravenclaws.  
  
Going back to Seamus. Once Seamus knows, the entire Gryffindor common room will know within the course of 5 minutes. For the next 10 minutes, the rumor gets stretched and passed from mouth to mouth until the entire Gryffindor house knows. From there, Hufflepuffs would be notified, then Ravenclaws, and then Slytherins.  
  
Which was of course why at 7:00 AM, everyone knew about Harry and Draco's detention, and the rather questionable situation (at least, to Ron) was confirmed as a scandalous affair between the two most eligible bachelors of Hogwarts.  
  
Harry and Draco were blissfully asleep for another hour.  
  
***  
  
It was usual for people to stare at him when he entered the Great Hall. Especially for first years to do so, and especially on the first day of school. But it was getting way too ridiculous that morning. He felt almost the entire population of the school goggling at him as he walked in. Inaudible whispers followed him as he walked over to where Ron, Hermione, and the other Gryffindors were seated.  
  
"What's going on?" he immediately asked, pouring himself a glass of orange juice.  
  
"Harry!" Seamus said, enthusiastically pointing a fork at his direction. "Why didn't you ever tell us about it?"  
  
"About what?"  
  
"You know! IT! The thing everyone's talking about!"  
  
"You're not making any sense," he replied, annoyed. Dean calmly threw a strawberry at Seamus' direction. The Irish boy began to sputter indignantly and pelted his boyfriend with other various fruits.  
  
"What Seamus means to say," Dean explained, ignoring the grapes coming in his direction, "is, why didn't you ever tell us about your relationship with Draco Malfoy?"  
  
"My… what?" Harry asked, thoroughly confused. The entire Gryffindor table had gone quiet, waiting for his answer. "That I hate him? Don't you guys know that already?"  
  
"Aw… Harry, don't play innocent!" Seamus cut in, halting in his fruit barrage. "You know what we mean!"  
  
"No, I don't! Would you guys all stop talking nonsense!" Harry demanded.  
  
Ron spoke up beside him, face red. "Hermione and I… uh… dropped in on your detention yesterday."  
  
"Yes? And?"  
  
"Well… you know."  
  
"I don't know! What?"  
  
"Come on, Harry!" Seamus cajoled, leaning forward on his elbows. "You can tell us. How was he?"  
  
Harry got up and stalked very firmly towards the Slytherin table. To his surprise, he found Draco in the same situation as he was, surrounded by a group of Slytherin boys and girls demanding answers from him. Slamming his hands on the table, he managed to catch Draco's attention, as well as the attention from everyone in the room, including the staff.  
  
"Will you tell me what is going on!"  
  
"I was going to ask you that!"  
  
"Malfoy, something is going around about us two and I want to know what it is!"  
  
"You're the genius boy, Potter! You tell me what's going on!" Draco had risen until he was the same height as Harry, face mere inches from his opponent. In the distance, someone jeered and whistled.  
  
"A lover's quarrel, no?" came a catcall, followed by yells of similar vein. Harry briefly thought he heard Fred's voice saying one of them.  
  
"Lover's…?" Draco's voice trailed off in horror as Harry suddenly understood the content behind the statement.  
  
"You don't mean…" he backed away from Draco, eyes widening in a mad sweep around the room.  
  
"No. It can't be. Potter, what did you do that could have given them that impression?"  
  
"Me? I've done nothing! You're the one that likes to play with sexual innuendoes!"  
  
"Me?! Who was it yesterday-" then cut off, understanding dawning like a lightening bolt.  
  
"Yesterday. Detention. Oh gods, no." Harry closed his eyes, replaying the events of their detention in his head, seeing the rather innocent comments they had made in a completely new light.  
  
"Potter-" Draco made a movement as if to strangle him, but suddenly Dumbledore was next to them, one hand on each of their shoulders.  
  
"I'm sorry, but love dramas must be postponed until classes start at nine o'clock." He raised a benevolent hand to their protest, a glimmer behind his half-moon glasses. "Now, boys, why don't you sit down and finish your breakfast? The sausages are extremely good."  
  
The headmaster proceeded to lead Harry back to his table where he unceremoniously pushed Harry into a chair, chuckling.  
  
Harry spent the next 40 some minutes desperately trying to ignore the goading comments made by the rest of the room. His only consolation was that Draco was going through the same thing.  
  
***  
  
"Harry?"  
  
"Shut up," he replied through gritted teeth, walking down the hallway. Ron had to jog a little to catch up with his long strides. Hermione, looking as worried as always, trailed silently behind.  
  
"Look, Harry-"  
  
"Ron, haven't you done enough? The entire school now thinks Malfoy and I are an- an item!"  
  
"Look, Harry, I'm sorry. Okay?" Ron's voice sounded small and meek, pathetic in a way, but it always worked with Harry. Whenever Ron put on that wheedling voice, he always gave in.  
  
"It's all right. I guess it would have sounded… uh… wrong from outside." He laughed ruefully, slowing down a little.  
  
"But you're not really…" Hermione ventured, embarrassed. Harry whipped his head around to look at her, shocked.  
  
"Hermione! Of course not!"  
  
"Well," she added hastily, "I was just curious. Because you two would look cute together-"  
  
"Hermione!" Ron gaped. "That's disgusting!"  
  
"Well, they would!"  
  
"I don't believe this!" Harry said, both amused and outraged. "My own best friend."  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: This chapter was supposed to be quite a bit longer. In fact, I was even working on the next section. However, I was stuck, and it was taking way too long, so anyway, there it was. Now, on to the next part…  
  
Summary of Next Chapter: Harry and Draco finally agree on something: Snape is a slimy git. Furthermore, Potions become even more unbearable, for Slytherins and Gryffindors alike. Dumbledore and McGonagall have a little chat. 


	4. An Unpleasant Beginning To An Unpleasant...

Phantasmagoria  
  
By: ShinigamiForever  
  
Warnings: Head's up, slash ahead. Oddity and some maybe cliché ideas.  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine, ya hear?  
  
A/N: This part was more forced out than anything. I really was stuck in a rut. But from now on, it should be smooth sailing. A word to the wise and to Snape fans: I don't know if he would really use a pointer, but this is a tribute to one of my favorite books, The Chocolate War. There is a teacher called Brother Leon who is the embodiment of Snape, and he uses a pointer. Lastly, Kudos so much to VanityFair for writing Love Under Will. I know the format of this chapter is largely based on the format of her part 2, but I loved it, and it is changed to an extent, so here goes.  
  
  
  
Chapter 4: An Unpleasant Beginning To An Unpleasant Year  
  
  
  
Severus Snape was predictably absent from the classroom when Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat down at their seats. It was custom for Snape to burst in at a few moments after the students had all settled down. He would give a particularly nasty and unwelcome speech and then set them all to work on a potion. If he had a good summer, he would let them choose their partners. If he had a bad summer, he would choose partners.  
  
Harry prayed he had a good summer. Ordinarily, he would have wished for all misfortune in the world on Snape, but if Snape was going to pair them up, he was most likely to pair them up with a member of the opposite house. And Harry was not, repeat NOT, in the mood to work with any Slytherin.  
  
Especially after the events this morning.  
  
2 minutes passed before Snape entered the classroom, shutting the door behind him. He stormed to the front of the class and then abruptly calmed down, whirling around to stare at his class. A few strands of loose black hair fell in his face as he regarded his students. Harry shrank into his seat, trying to avoid the black eyes watching him.  
  
"How disappointing," Snape said in his usual icy sarcastic voice. "You all decided to come back." He picked up a pointer from his desk, one that no one had seen before, and slapped it hard across his palm. "Well. Nothing to be done about that except…" and he paused for a dramatic effect, but instead of continuing, he simply moved on.  
  
"The beginning of another year. Another year of blundering," here he looked straight at Neville, who promptly turned beet red and slid almost all the way down in his chair, "another year of foolishness, another year of inflated egos, " Harry felt his face begin to burn, "and of course, another year of pointless attempts to teach you the beauty of potions. A pity," he murmured, slashing his palm with his pointer. "Another year gone to waste. But here you are and here I am."  
  
Harry watched Snape pace lightly across the front of the classroom, head slightly bent. There was a sense of immediate torture in each footstep the Potions teacher took. He hoped his sixth sense was wrong.  
  
"First things first," Snape said, again stopping suddenly and rounding on the class. "Seating arrangements."  
  
A general sense of doom fell over the classroom as all the students groaned. Snape smiled in a grimace sort of way, and began to use his pointer to direct students.  
  
"Mr. Longbottom, you may sit with Mr. Goyle. Mr. Weasley, you may sit with Mr. Crabbe. Ms. Granger, you may sit with Ms. Parkinson. And of course," here Snape cast a rather wicked glance at Harry, "Mr. Potter, you may sit with Mr. Malfoy. The rest of you-" he pointed sharply at the rest of the class," pair up with another member of the opposite house. And no objections."  
  
Lavender immediately shut her mouth. Collective groans echoed across the room as the usual hustle bustle was replaced with hostile hissing, mostly of, "You move!" "No, you move!" However, two solitary figures remained glued to their seats, staring straight ahead in a state of shock.  
  
Harry's only cohesive thought for 2 minutes was:  
  
I would give anything to murder Snape.  
  
***  
  
Draco Malfoy loved potions. He loved the feeling of power they gave him, holding draughts that could induce living death, or poisons, or whatever. But, and here was the drawback: He wasn't fond of Snape.  
  
Today more than ever, because he had just been through an eternity of teasing and mocking and catcalling. And because he had just had little to no sleep. And because it had just been a rotten beginning to the year.  
  
Never mind the fact that he was once again paired with Potter, who was just as irritated and upset and ready to fly off the handle. And never mind the fact he actually found Potter quite charming when he was angry. And never mind the fact that he had been having those kinds of disturbing thoughts for way too long.  
  
But, it was Snape, who looked as nice as a basilisk and about ready to spew 15 detentions at both of them and take of hundreds of points if one of them didn't start moving. And so, Draco, being oh so kind, decided to take the pains of picking up his stuff and moving to the newly vacated seat beside a very, very, homicidal Potter.  
  
"I swear, Potter," he murmured, arranging his stuff on his desk, "if you so much as give anybody any impression that-"  
  
"Don't worry, Malfoy, I won't risk your precious pride," came the caustic reply as Harry neatly turned his attention away from his companion. Draco gave an irate growl then did his best to ignore the boy beside him too.  
  
Except it was harder than he expected. Harry had a way of bending over his notes that was distracting, because it gave attention to this delightful little curl on the nape of his neck. And he also had this habit of putting the end of his quill in his mouth, looking criminally sexy in an unassuming way. And he also had this little quirk on his lips when he was bored. Warm dark pink soft lips.  
  
Bad bad Draco. And stop looking at his neck!  
  
"Since you insist on wasting my time," Snape continued to lecture, " I will try and do something valuable with yours. Not that any of you will learn." He started to walk around the front of the room again, pointer slapping against his palm.  
  
"The Deductem potion is one of the most difficult potions ever know to wizardkind. That is not to say that there is no one capable of doing it; however, out of this class of 20, partnered up into teams of 10, I predict only one of you will succeed in making it. That is a 10% chance of success, you realize."  
  
There was a pregnant pause in which Seamus muttered, "At least it's greater than the chances of Snape being laid."  
  
"35 points from Gryffindor for talking without permission, Mr. Finnigan," Snape said, a snarl edging his voice. "And be glad it isn't more." Seamus did a mock salute which did nothing to ease the tension. The usual annoyance of starting a new year had escalated into flat out hostility this morning. Snape was playing with a loaded gun.  
  
"Now, the Deductem potion has simply one use: to hide yourself from your friends and to expose yourself to your enemies." A number of outbursts fired across the classroom, the loudest one coming from Blaise Zabini, who had stationed himself next to Seamus.  
  
"That's insane, Professor," Blaise drawled in his lazy voice, taking dominance from the peanut gallery. "Who would want such a thing?"  
  
"Ah, indeed," Snape continued, narrowing his eyes at Blaise and whirling his pointer around. "That is an excellent question. Who indeed would want such a thing?" Hermione's hand went up in the air immediately, and as custom, Snape ignored it. He instead rounded on Harry, the pointer flashing out to point at him. Draco jumped at the sound the metal made zipping through the air. "Potter. Do you know?"  
  
Draco was sure the boy did not know, he looked as if he had just stepped out of a daze. But the familiar voice answered, "When a person decides to turn traitor, Professor. It helps not to let his friends see." Obsidian eyes met accusing emerald, and it dawned on Draco that Potter still thought Snape was somehow still playing Judas. Which was understandable. So the reply had been a barb?  
  
"Well answered," Snape said, disappointed. But his eyes never left Harry's as he pulled in his hand with the pointer.  
  
The rest of the day was spent dutifully taking down notes.  
  
***  
  
If Draco was not an observant little boy, he probably wouldn't have caught the slight shifting of emotions that he had been experiencing lately. It had happened over the summer too, when he had found himself inexplicably thinking about Potter. Not in ways like, say, "Potter is an idiot," or "Potter is a suck up," or "Potter makes my life miserable," but in ways like, "Potter has petrifying eyes," or "Potter's hands are indeed feminine" or "Potter would look great in dark green."  
  
Of course, he tried his hardest to push these unacceptable thoughts into the back of his head. If they had no food, they would starve. So, if he didn't think about it, it would go away.  
  
He was going to kick whoever said that. It didn't work.  
  
The recent turn of events, the detention incident and all, didn't help either.  
  
And although ever single time someone asked him about it, he blew up in their face about the utter impossibility of it all, he couldn't helping thinking that he wished it were true.  
  
Why was he so suddenly head over heels about the idiot Boy Who Lived?  
  
Hell if he knew.  
  
But he was very, very, determined to find out. After all, Draco Malfoy always got what he wanted. Always.  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Uh. Um. Eh. Well. Please don't eat me alive? I know the conversation with Dumbledore and McGonagall got pushed out. It'll be in the next part, I promise.  
  
Summary for next chapter:  
  
Dumbledore and McGonagall have a little talk. Harry and Draco discover that food fights are not only messy, but have consequences. The trophies need polishing. Guess who are the lucky two. 


	5. A Forecast of Food Fights

Phantasmagoria  
  
By: ShinigamiForever  
  
Warnings: Slash. Hopefully not cliché. *crosses fingers*  
  
Disclaimer: Look up. It says FANFICTION. FAN.  
  
Pairings: As of yet, only some mild Draco/Harry and Ron/Hermione. Will progress to Seamus/Dean and Fred/George.  
  
Summary: Wherein Fate thinks it's amusing to constantly place Harry and Draco in rather compromising situations. Wherein Ron, Hermione, Seamus, Dean and some others decide to play match maker for the two. Wherein the seventh year ends up to be rather catastrophic. A Harry/Draco production.  
  
Chapter summary: Dumbledore and McGonagall have a little talk. Harry and Draco discover that food fights are not only messy, but have consequences. The trophies need polishing. Guess who are the lucky two.  
  
A/N: The little part in the beginning is back, with the scientists and all that. Some parts of this fic inspired by Dark and my fic, Innuendo. Just have fun, eh?  
  
  
  
Chapter 5: A Forecast of Food Fights  
  
  
  
"You gay?"  
  
"Why do you say that?"  
  
"The way you look at him, kinda tender and gentle. A look. You know."  
  
"Mm." He turned nervously away from his co-worker, his eyes coincidentally landing on the young man, bordering on boy, who lay on the chair, reclining, wires and tubes everywhere. Something about the curve of his face, the bobbing eyes beneath the lids.  
  
Dreaming. Was the young man dreaming?  
  
"So are you?"  
  
"Am I what?" he asked distractedly.  
  
"Gay." His co-worker was black, skin chocolate. Like African sunlight in the dim room of the lab.  
  
"No."  
  
"Liar," the co-worker said, laughing, and placed a hand on his arm, a gentle touch, warm and coffee against his skin. "Liar," the co-worker repeated, quieter now.  
  
He jerked his hand away. "I'm not."  
  
***  
  
Professor Trelawney looked like a spider, leaning over his teacup in a protective way, her arms thin. Her glasses reflected nothing, not the steam that rose up in Harry's. The foggy whiteness everywhere. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out in an exasperated sigh.  
  
"Professor?"  
  
"Shh," she hissed through her teeth, inhaling the moist scent of the tea. "I must have full concentration to comprehend your future." Harry decided it would be useless to point out that for the last 4 years, she had always predicted his future in at least 5 seconds. Fingers tapping against the table, he looked around. Most of the students were bent over their teacups, nervously laughing. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil had smug expressions on their faces, writing down their futures with gusto. Ron was at his side, giggling in a way Harry had thought only girls did.  
  
"You poor, poor boy. Oh, my poor, poor boy." Harry held back his instinct to lash out, to say that he was not her boy. Instead, he rolled his eyes towards Ron, who continued giggling. "I see awful things in your future. Awful, terrible things."  
  
"My death?" he asked wryly.  
  
"Ah, if that were only so. If that were only so." The class suddenly became deathly silent, all heads turned in Harry's direction. He sank a little into his chair. Trelawney's eyes had hardened and they became two glittering orbs attached to her face. She was dead serious.  
  
To use a pun, of course.  
  
"What, then? If not my immediate death…"  
  
"Betrayal. Love. Broken dreams. You will face the threat of death, and you will over come it, but-" And she started gasping, falling back into her seat, hand on her chest. Harry leaned forward, his eyes peering into the crystal ball, but he saw nothing. Just white mist. And then a speck of color, grayish blue, suddenly appeared, then magnified, slowly, slowly-  
  
Lavender had rushed up to Trelawney and was now cooing to ask whether or not the professor was all right. Ron had turned ashen, but was now giggling nervously again. "She's joking, right?" He turned anxiously to Harry, who was entranced by the speck in the crystal ball.  
  
"Harry?"  
  
He jolted, his eyelids falling over his pupils. The speck disappeared. Ron hovered over his shoulder, his face screwed in unease. "Harry, what's wrong?"  
  
"Nothing," he said brusquely, turning away from the crystal ball.  
  
For a moment, he swore he saw Draco Malfoy's face reflected in the white depths.  
  
***  
  
"For the last time, I am NOT in love with Harry Potter!" Draco hissed indignantly, causing Professor Sprout to snap, "Quiet, Malfoy!" over the racket of students. They had been all scrambling to catch Sonondous plants, things that looked akin to moving grass. Running grass, actually. Draco had been too preoccupied with fending off the onslaught of questions than listening to Sprout explain the uses of the plant, but he had caught words like "hearing" and "heal." So it wasn't a useless plant anyway.  
  
Kevin Entwhistle, a seventh year Ravenclaw, grinned maliciously at Draco and goaded, "Oh no, you don't love him, you just lust over his bo~dy!"  
  
Draco hated Kevin. He had a way of drawling out words that made them sound worse than they ever could. Like the word body. For God's sake, Kevin might have well said 'Oh no, you just want to get laid' or something equally crude for all the difference it made.  
  
Stupid Kevin. Draco cursed under his breath. Then calmed down, then smiled. "I certainly don't, but Entwhistle, do you?" Ha! So take that!  
  
The Ravenclaw gaped, much like a fish, before stuttering, "Of course not! I- I'm not gay!"  
  
Leering, Draco leaned in closer and said, "Oh? But I heard that you and that Hufflepuff Anthony…" and left it at that, leaving poor stupid Kevin to fend for himself.  
  
Today was a bad day, Draco thought to himself as he shoved a Sonondous plant into his bucket. Today couldn't get much worse than this.  
  
But he realized, as he began halfheartedly chasing another plant, it was Hogwarts. And it was Potter. Of course the day could get worse. Much much worse.  
  
And wouldn't you know? It did.  
  
***  
  
Lunch at the Gryffindor table was its usual bright happy self. The students bustled themselves in and sat down, shoving as much food into their mouths as humanly possible. Lunch at the Gryffindor table was lively and full of merry cheer.  
  
Except today, Harry didn't feel like cheer. He was tired and irritated, having gotten almost no sleep, and having to spend the majority of his morning maintaining that no, he was not gay, and if he was, he wouldn't have picked Draco bloody Malfoy, of all people.  
  
Speaking of which, he thought, what was Malfoy up to? He glanced over at Malfoy, who was currently also eating lunch, but looking more as if he was being boiled in a pot of hot oil. His face, normally smooth and composed, was bright pink, and he was so desperately trying to ignore his housemates that it was almost funny.  
  
Almost, but not quite.  
  
It would have been funny if Harry had not been doing the same thing.  
  
Sighing, he turned back to his lunch and absently picked at the potatoes and steak, feeling dismal. Hermione was reading, and Ron was imitating a pig, shoving the food in so quickly, well, personally Harry thought he was going to choke.  
  
"Whass da matter, 'arry?" Ron said, around a mouthful of food. He chugged down some pumpkin juice for good measure, then gulped. "You okay?"  
  
"Fine. Just dandy."  
  
Ron opened his mouth just as Hermione interrupted. "Harry. Why aren't you eating?" Hermione put down her book and peered anxiously at him. For the same reason that git over there isn't eating, thought Harry, but he said nothing, just continued moving one piece of potato from one end of the plate to another.  
  
"I know," said Ron bluntly. "He's mooning over Ferret-Boy."  
  
"I AM NOT!" Harry yelled, slamming his silverware down on the table. Ron looked up, shocked and slightly embarrassed.  
  
"Jeez, Harry, I'm just kidding."  
  
"Well, STOP kidding."  
  
"Hey! Harry!" a fifth year Gryffindor called out from down the table. "Is it true?"  
  
"Yeah! Harry! Is it true?" Choruses of questions rained down from the four tables like hail. "Was Malfoy any good?" "How long you've been a poof, Potter?" "Lust after your roommates any?" "Malfoy, of all people?" "Hey, Creevy wants a date!"  
  
But mostly, "Harry, is it true?"  
  
"Yes, Potter," came a voice behind Harry, low and angry. "Is it true?"  
  
Draco Malfoy. For a moment, Harry sat there, trembling from uncontrollable rage. His jaws were clenched together, and he could swear that there was a tic going off in his temple. Then suddenly, quite suddenly, he picked up his plate of food and slammed in straight into Malfoy's face, causing the entire room to go silent.  
  
"You BASTARD! You started these rumors, didn't you?"  
  
"POTTER! For what damn reason would I start rumors that would incriminate me?"  
  
"Admit it! You just wanted some piece of the glory, don't you? Couldn't stand being one step behind me, could you?"  
  
Draco's face twitched under the mashed potatoes, and Harry had the horrible impulse to laugh. If it weren't for Draco's hand, clenched in a fist and shaking dangerously. "And you think I would sleep with you for that glory, Potter? Do you?"  
  
Harry swallowed, the steam running out of him, the distinct thought, 'Oh hell' resounding in his mind in place of the fury. "Look, Malfoy, I was just-"  
  
"Just what, Harry? Come on, spit it out." Draco's voice was deathly quiet.  
  
"I didn't mean- I wasn't- I'm sorry, okay?"  
  
"Well, I don't need your damn sorry."  
  
"You don't have to be an ass about it! I was trying to apologize! You stupid arrogant-"  
  
The plate of food in the face was unexpected. But then again, Harry thought as he stood there, stunned, gravy dripping off his nose, he deserved it. He really did. He himself was the stupid one here, venting out on Draco when Draco didn't really deserve it.  
  
Embarrassed now, Harry wiped off some of the potato from his eyes and tried to apologize again. But Draco was already starting to walk away, his back like an angry wall in Harry's face.  
  
It was just then, just as Harry was about to call out sorry one more time, just as he wanted to make things better, Snape showed up.  
  
***  
  
"Albus, I am really worried about those two!"  
  
Dumbledore sat in his chair, looking quite old and quite tired. For a fleeting second, Professor Minerva McGonagall was afraid for the Headmaster. He had no right being old, she thought irrationally. Albus Dumbledore was not allowed to get old.  
  
"I'm sure they will be find, Minerva. I suggest we just let this thing take its course." Something seemed off about Albus. To McGonagall, he seemed to be…  
  
Joking?  
  
"But this is the second time in two days! First that little incident with the armor which was really quite amusing in a juvenile kind of way, and now a food fight in the middle of lunch. Honestly!"  
  
"Boys will be boys," Dumbledore answered, his mouth curving into a hidden smile.  
  
"They are almost grown men!"  
  
"Minerva," he leaned in, speaking softly and gently, "you know just as well as I do that when the final battle comes, they will have no more time left for food fights and, as you call them, 'juvenile' incidents. Especially Harry."  
  
"I know that," she replied fretfully. "I know that. And that's why I'm worried. I want Harry to be concentrated. I want him to take this seriously. I want him to-"  
  
"Minerva," Dumbledore cut in sharply. "He's still young. You can't expect so much from him. He's already doing the best he can. I think the best course of action is just to sit back and watch." As if to drive in the point, Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and pressed his fingers together, lips forming a taut line.  
  
"I suppose you are right," McGonagall replied hesitantly.  
  
"Of course I am," he said, smiling. "Now go help those two before Snape beheads them."  
  
She gave a sharp laugh and got up. As she neared the door, she turned back around. He was looking away, into empty space, and he looked so very, very old.  
  
Minerva McGonagall suddenly felt more worried than she had ever felt before.  
  
***  
  
The silence in the room broke abruptly as McGonagall swept in, looking as prim and austere as ever before. Draco had already started to regret approaching Harry during lunch, but it was full blown now. He completely and utterly regretted ever thinking about talking with Harry during lunch.  
  
McGonagall stood awkwardly next to Snape's desk, waiting for Snape to talk. And he did, clearing his throat presumptuously first. "Well, well, well. It seems that the school year has not quite started yet, but the antics have, no?"  
  
"Professor," Harry cut in, hesitant. Draco found his eyes drawn back to Harry, to the curve of his jaw again. He had vowed not to give in to himself; a whole summer wasted thinking about Potter was bad enough, he didn't need to do it for the whole year. But there it was, and he couldn't do anything about it. "I can explain."  
  
"Oh?" McGonagall asked sarcastically. "Surely, Mr. Potter, there is nothing to explain. You and Malfoy deliberately started a fight by throwing plates of food at each other's faces."  
  
"It was only one each!" Draco cut in, annoyed.  
  
"It was still a food fight," Snape hissed dramatically. Draco gritted his teeth, keeping his hands from lashing out at the oily-haired figure in front of him.  
  
Harry seemed subdued in the dark light. Draco was worried, irrationally worried, that if it was any more darker, that Harry would just disappear, be whisked off by the light. Of course, it wasn't true, but it didn't keep Draco from wanting to reach out and grab the Gryffindor's wrist to keep him from fading away.  
  
"I am really disappointed in both of you boys," McGonagall continued in her snippy voice. "Two detentions in two days- not even two days, one and a half! I expect much more demure behavior from both of you in the future. Mr. Potter," she said, rounding suddenly on Harry, black eyes flashing with unholy fervor. "You know better. This is not the time nor the place to be starting such irresponsible behavior. You have a duty, Mr. Potter."  
  
Harry chewed at his lower lip, hands clenched helplessly in his lap. He nodded and muttered, "Yes, Professor." Draco wondered vaguely, only vaguely, what that duty was. He was more interested in Harry's teeth, his lip being worn under them, pink and wet. Draco shook his head, causing Snape to turn his head.  
  
"Is there something you would like to add, Mr. Malfoy?" Snape had a way of talking, Draco realized, that drew out words and made them seem sinister. Malfoy. As if Malfoy was a bad word. Of course, Snape did that to everyone. Draco always enjoyed the way Snape spat out 'Potter.' The insolent roll of the letter 'R'. It was all Harry.  
  
"No, Professor."  
  
"Good. On top of loosing 30 points each-"  
  
"30?!" Draco found himself almost lunging forward. Harry's soft voice interrupted.  
  
"Professor-"  
  
"Consider that generous," Snape said, baring his teeth. "On top of loosing 30 points each, you two will be polishing the trophies in the trophy room. Show up at my office at 7:30 sharp. Dismissed."  
  
Draco watched Harry's expression shift under the skin, from the hesitant worried boy into a determined weather young man. He sighed, raising his eyes until they bruised Snape's with their own sharpness.  
  
7:30 it is, then, he thought, getting out of his seat and resisting the urge to glance back at Harry.  
  
  
  
A/N: Yay! FFN is finally back up! Yay!  
  
Summary for next chapter: Harry and Draco try to reach an understanding in a way that ends up involving a lot of trophy dropping, growling, and general discomfort. Seamus and Dean try to work out their differences in a way that ends up involving much awkward positions, accident discoveries, and stoic glares. Fred and George try to sort out hormone-induced thoughts in a way that ends up involving much rude interruption, pouncing, and snogging. Much unresolved sexual tension for all. 


End file.
